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AMos Chapter 1-2 (Original)
Title: A Moment of Stupidity Part 1: 776 - 1,094 Chapter 2
Rating: R for language violence, suggestive themes, and mentions of RAPE and M/M SLASH. Don’t like, then don’t read.
Disclaimer: Castlevania and it’s characters and situations are the sole property of Konami. I am making no money or profit off of this fanfiction and no copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: AU. What if Joachim Armster had lived through his fight with Leon Belmont? What might have been different? Well hang on, because Joachim is going to tell you all about it. From his kidnapping and forced turning to his rescue from the ruins of Walter’s castle, and from Trevor's birth and to Richter's death of old age, he tells all - and blames it all on Leon while he's at it.
Section Summary: Part 1 covers the three hundred or so years between Joachim's turning and Lament of Innocence.
SPOILER WARNING!!! Spoilers for many of the Castlevania games!!
WARNING!! This fic may offend the religious! Read at your own risk!
A/N: In case you didn't notice on the archive page, be aware that this is the original version of AMoS as it appears on the Anime Fountain. I'm not too proud of this monster these days, but I figured that someone would like to see it, so here it is. Be careful, this thing is scary.
2.
Love Bites
I suppose that I should tell something of my life before my turning. I imagine that that would be the best way to show exactly what changes the transformation would later cause in me. But don’t think for a minute that I am telling you anymore than necessary. You are only getting what you need to know. What to know more? Too damn bad.
My human family - the Armsters, obviously - were an aristocratic family that reached back generations. I don’t remember the exact title that the family lord held, but we did have vast tracts of land, several small villages, and many, many peasants under our control. We lived quite comfortably in a two story manor house, staffed by countless servants. Despite our wealth and position, we did have our problems and hurdles. The two biggest of which was the odd tendency towards insanity and the so called curse that killed one male in every generation. The insanity was certainly true, as I remember meeting several uncles, aunts, and cousins that all seemed to be touched in one way or another. The perceived curse also appeared to be genuine. In every generation, one son would either die, or something would befall him that would make him wish that he had died. The curse was apparently the reason for my father, who was the second son in his generation, inheriting the title after his older brother died in a bizarre accident. My siblings and I never learned the exact nature of this accident, but we did hear enough whispers to learn that it involved a colorful outfit worn by a neighboring lord, a spooked horse, and a low tree branch. You figure out the rest. It was because of this curse, and the widespread belief in it, that my father had to search quite a ways outside of the family’s lands to find a wife. He was successful in finding a suitable bride, and soon she began to bear children within a year of their marriage. A girl was born first, followed by a son.
I was born into the family as the third child and the second son sometime during the middle of the eighth century. Thanks to multiple calendar changes as well as spending a century or so locked up, courtesy of Walter, I do not know my exact age. I can make a rough guess, but the exact number is lost to me. But that is not important. Four years after my birth, another girl was born, and then my younger brother was born when I was ten.
My younger brother Isaac is the only sibling whose name I remember. He and I were the only children that resembled our mother, with the rest being mirror images for our father. For some reason that I was never able to figure out, Isaac attached himself to me almost as soon as he was born. He would let our mother and his nurse care for him, but he preferred my company above all others, and he would cry when he couldn’t be with me. Once he learned how to walk, he would follow me around like a lost puppy, begging me to play with him or tell him a story, and I usually gave into him. He and I were very close, and we only became closer as we grew up.
As the second son, I would, of course, have inherited nothing when my father passed away, so I would had to have carved out my own niche. I was heavily religious in those days, sickeningly so, so all it took was a few gentle nudges from the old priest that schooled me and my brothers, and it was off to seminary school with me. I was ordained at the age of nineteen, and I returned to my family, taking the place of the old priest, who had recently died.
Once I returned, I settled into a routine. I spent my mornings giving Mass and communion to my family, then studied my books for several hours until lunch. I had moved into the small room in the chapel, but I still joined my family for meals. After that I would spend the afternoon with Isaac, who was overjoyed to have me back, and it was then that I began to notice something disturbing.
When I left for seminary school, my parents had been hopeful that their children would be spared the Armster family curse. None of us had shown any signs of insanity, and so far none of us had suffered any severe accident of any kind. That changed, apparently, while I was away. When I had left, Isaac had been your normal happy four year old, even if he was a bit sad that I was leaving him. When I returned, he was overjoyed to see me, but his behavior had changed. He had begun to isolate himself from the rest of the family, joining them only when he was forced to do so. He had terrible nightmares that often sent him running into my small room to jump into bed with me. When I could get him to speak of them, he would tell me about the terrible things he had seen: murder, war, torture, rape. He saw too many terrible things for someone so young. He often “saw” things about a person whenever he touched them or their belongings. Some of those things were so strong that he began to avoid touching people whenever he could.
“But not you, Joachim.” he said, nestling close to me under my fur blankets one winter night “Nothing bad happens when I’m with you.” I smiled down at him, and, looking over at the small coal grate to make sure that it had enough fuel to last the night, I settled down and went to sleep, my little brother nestled securely in my arms.
It was that morning when I realized what everyone else thought of Isaac and his visions. After Mass, everyone was leaving the chapel to go about their daily business, except Isaac, who always stayed with me, when my father gestured me off to the side. He then ordered Isaac to leave. As usual, Isaac looked to me for instructions, and I gestured that he should do as he was told. After he had gone, Father turned to me and asked:
“Father, what are your opinions on my son’s visions?”
I was startled; only the servants referred to me as “Father”. My family simply called me by my name. I didn’t know quite what to make of his question, but, thinking quickly, I thought that a lie would be best.
“They are harmless, my lord.” I replied using a respectful title for my father, something that I normally only did when I was in trouble “He is a boy, with a overactive imagination.” Of course, I was certain that they were more than that, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. Father looked at me searchingly for a moment, and I sent him a comforting smile - yes they DO pull you aside in seminary school and teach you how to smile like that - and he nodded and walked away.<./p>
It was right around this time that I caught the eye of Walter Bernhard during one of his few nighttime jaunts outside of his territory. We knew about him, of course, as did everyone, but my family's lands were far from the Eternal Night. We thought that the distance - and God - would keep us safe. I paid for that overconfidence. I was outside one evening, sitting on a bench in the orchard, enjoying the piece and quiet. For once, Issac was not with me. I felt someone looking at me and looked up to see a brief flash of red in the trees. I saw nothing else but decided that it was best to go in anyways.
Walter crashed through my window one night about six months after I was ordained and stole me right of my bed. We were long gone before anyone reached my room. I screamed, like a woman if I must be honest, as he carried me back to his castle. Once inside it's heavy walls, under the shelter of the Eternal Night that no mortal would dare venture under, he wasted no time in throwing me down onto the nearest piece of sturdy furniture - a heavy stone table if I remember correctly - and ripping my robes off. I fought him, but what good is a human's strength against a vampire's, especially one as old as him? But suffice to say he brutally raped me, while simultaneously biting me on the neck and draining me to the point of death. Then he slashed his wrist and forced me to swallow some of his own blood. Then, in odd contrast to his earlier brutality, he gently picked me up and carried me to one of the castle's many bedrooms, where he put me to bed.
For the next five days, I fought the transformation with every ounce of strength that I had - which wasn't much really. I had been almost completely drained, so I didn't even possess the strength to raise my head, much less fight something that was obviously magical in nature. During the daylight hours, human servants tended to me, feeding me and bathing me. During the nighttime hours, the flame haired vampire himself would take up residence in a chair beside me. I remember that he raped me once, sometimes twice, a night, and after he was done, he would disappear, leaving me for the servants to clean up later. On the second morning after I was bitten, I didn't shiver from the chill when the servants put me in the bath to wash away the remains of Walter's nightly activities. On the third morning I winced in pain when one of them came close to me with a lit lantern. On the fourth morning, one of the maids remarked that my hair was getting lighter while my eyes seemed to be getting darker. On the fifth day, my teeth began to ache, while I felt so weak that taking a breath was a struggle. The servants whispered to each other that it wouldn't be long.
"What's happening to me?" I managed to whimper - the first thing other than broken, pleading prayers that I had said since my arrival.
"You're dying." one of them replied as she tucked the blankets around me "By this time tomorrow, the transformation will be complete." I shuddered, closing my eyes, wanting desperately to open them again and find myself back in my little room aside my family's private chapel. The servants quietly filed out of the room, one of the whispering a quiet "I'm sorry." as they left.
That night Walter came to me like usual, but he did not leave once he was through with me. He settled back into his chair by the head of the bed and watched with eager eyes, like he was waiting for something to happen. I looked at him with glazed, heavy eyes, absently wondering what he was waiting for. I soon found out.
Pain suddenly erupted in my chest, making me cry out in agony. Or, at least, I tried to. I was so weak by this time that it came out little more than a pained whimper. It felt as though someone had reached into my chest and was squeezing my heart in their hand until I thought that it must explode from the pressure. I remember that Walter practically beamed at me when it became clear what was happening. The pressure - and the pain - spread throughout my chest and to my lungs, making breathing an even bigger struggle. It occurred to me that I was dying, and the thought filled me with a terror that I had never before felt. Even the terror brought on by the kidnapping and the first rape were nothing compared to this. I was going to die, and I would wake up as no longer human.
"You are mine now." Walter said in a low, menacing whisper, the first words that he had spoken to me. I heard his chair creak, which sounded much too loud to my panicked mind, as he settled down to watch me die. I cried feebly for God to deliver me from this horror, only to be answered by a malicious chuckle from Walter. I struggled for air, fully aware of the smile on his face, as I felt my heart shudder to an abrupt stop. The room spun and swam into gray as I died.
When I woke, I immediately sensed that there was a human in the room with me. I could smell his blood and fear, and his heartbeat reverberated in my ears. I sat up, not noticing or caring that my strength had returned ten fold what it had been before, and spotted the human sitting tied to a chair in the far corner of the room. A painful burning suddenly filled my veins and my teeth began to ache. I climbed out of bed and went towards him, stalking like a hungry cat if I remember correctly. I ignored his pleas and struggles, and, acting on newfound instinct, I sank my fangs into the large artery in his neck. I drained him, not aware until the man was dead that there was someone else in the room with me. I removed my fangs from the corpse's neck and turned my head to see Walter standing by the door, looking at me with approval.
"Not a drop spilled," he said "Very good." The sound of his deep voice sent chills racing up and down my spine. I slowly stood up, turning my body to face him. His red eyed gaze looked me over a bit before he smiled in satisfaction, which sent another unpleasant chill up my spine.
"Oh," he purred, coming up to me and circling me like some stalking predator "you're beautiful. More beautiful than I had anticipated. This is perfect." He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my chest, biting me suddenly on the neck. I whimpered in surprise and pain as he licked the wound that was already closing as I felt something settle on my soul. But I could feel that the wound didn't completely heal and vanish. The bite mark would always remain, forever marking me as his.
"There," he said softly "I've given you a love bite." He laughed a small, malevolent sounding laugh. His hot breath tickled my ear, making me shiver. I felt, rather than saw, him smile as he picked me up and effortlessly tossed me across the room and onto the bed. This time I didn't fight him.
That is the short version of my transformation. The vampiric curse had turned my light blond hair white and my blue eyes a deep violet. I had lost all of my skin color, and my ears had become pointed as well. And Walter reminded me, by way of the bite mark on my neck, that I owed it all to him.
Chapter 1 -- Chapter 3
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